


How to Navigate Love: a Somewhat Adequate Tutorial by Harley Keener and Peter Parker

by viviixen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Baking, Cheesy, First Kiss, Harley Keener is a little shit, Harley is Concerned™, Hurt Peter Parker, I love her a lot, I tried?, Identity Porn, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, May Parker is a good Aunt, Oblivious Harley Keener, Peter Parker is a Mess, Peter’s endless obsession with lists, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, Prom/Jealousy, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie) Spoilers, T because of my potty mouth, Tony Stark's A+ Cooking, ayy Parkner Week 2019 lets go, bc I am a BABY and have never been to one, but he’s also soft, forewarning there’s no actual prom, harley is aware that he’s corny and loves it, its just a lil bit but be safe pls, lets make that a tag, mild description of gunshot wounds?, super good 10/10 I’d recommend it, the chocolate cake is bomb, tw i guess, updates tags as I fill in prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-07-29 13:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20082991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viviixen/pseuds/viviixen
Summary: Harley sweared to god that any more stupid surprises would send him into cardiac arrest. He knew how Tony felt now.-“He’ll be just fine,” May said with a weak smile, like she was trying to convince herself too. “He’s… he’s gone through a lot. He’s a strong boy.”“I know that!” Harley shouted, running his hands down his face and choking on the air. “I know that, but I didn’t know about this– I didn’t know he was Spider-Man and I said I didn’t like him to his face–”(SPOILERS in chapter 6)





	1. Identity Porn

**Author's Note:**

> what's up! first work in this ship, i'll be posting a lot of other stuff for it this week. i've fallen in a rabbit hole of loving these 2 idiots and i'll probably never get up. soft disaster boyes.
> 
> anyways go check out the @parknerweek blog on tumblr! that's where the event started uwu. enjoy!

Harley liked Peter. He really, really did. Maybe a little too much, but no one but his mind was subject to that. He liked Peter, but Peter acted weird around him. At first Harley thought it was just because the boy was shy, but whenever the conversation moved to the Avengers or crime he seemed to stiffen.

Harley was okay with that, he was fine. Maybe he just had abstract opinions, Harley certainly had some of his own. So he shared, hoping that Peter felt comfortable enough to share back.

He had started a conversation about Spider-Man, and Peter had gone rigid. Harley tentatively continued his train of thought, telling Peter that he was a little unnerved by the fact that as long as a super powered individual was doing good, everyone heralded him as a hero. He told Peter that Spider-Man lacked accountability, they didn’t even know who he was, he could kill a man and get away with it. Harley remembered saying that it scared him.

Peter didn’t say anything back other than a muttered “I don’t think he’d do that.” 

Harley shrugged and said “Maybe, maybe not.” 

That week, Spider-Man made extra effort to make sure that all of the criminals he webbed weren’t in any lethal danger, and to make sure every kitten came down safely from the tree. Harley didn’t notice, why would he? 

Peter really wanted him to notice, but he couldn’t open his mouth enough to tell him, so his secrets remained unspoken.

The next time Harley mentioned something about Spider-Man, it was about his webs. Harley had mentioned that he thought that they were wasteful, what did they do to the plant life or the environment? What were they made out of? Harley was sure that it was some sort of chemical compound, but whether it was harmful to the ecosystem was unknown, and that made Harley stress just a bit. He told Peter that it was often there for hours upon hours after they were used, and that it was annoying and irresponsible. 

Harley did notice something this time, that Spider-Man’s webs lasted shorter and dissolved only two or so hours after being used. He was impressed, but suspicious. Harley refused to be a conspiracy theorist, though, so he figured that it might’ve just been a coincidence, or more people than him noticed and had brought it up.

Peter hid the new formula under his bed, and prayed no one found it. 

Harley didn’t hate Spider-Man. He really didn’t. He just thought that, based off of his mannerisms and the first-hand accounts of people who had interacted with him on the internet, that Spider-Man was a little too immature to be doing what he was doing. He was a vigilante, vigilantism was certainly illegal, and coupled with the powers he had no one could really stop him. Harley was reluctant to agree with the likes of the Daily Bugle, but he did have to admit that they had some points. Spider-Man looked like an irresponsible child, following in the footsteps of much more capable adults. Harley just thought that no one should be judge, jury and executioner. It wasn’t fair that way.

Harley could tell that Peter disagreed, his face got sad or confused whenever Harley brought up his view on the vigilante, and he spent a lot of time in his private section of the lab when Harley suggested tinkering. Harley didn’t even know what he was working on, but he didn’t push, even if the suggestion was that they work on something together. He understood, some people liked their privacy.

Peter was weird around him when they talked about things like heroes and crime, but he was still one of Harley’s best friends. Harley knew that he had an optimistic worldview, and he didn’t want to ruin that for the boy. God, he never wanted that bright light in his eyes to go out, even if it flickered whenever Harley made a remark about Spider-Man. Hero worship was something Peter struggled with, Harley could see that clearly with Tony, and you didn’t even have to be a hero for Peter to look up to you. If Harley had a nickel every time Peter’s face lit up when Harley complimented him, he’d have enough money to rival Stark Industries. So Harley thought that he would get over it eventually, maybe even agree with Harley about some things, even if he secretly didn’t want the pink on his cheeks when Harley got close to him to ever go away.

And they were fine that way, agreeing to disagree but still growing closer and closer every day. And Harley was slowly working up the courage to tell Peter that he drove him crazy, that maybe_ friend _ wasn’t really the right word for what they were. 

He was going to ask Tony about it over dinner. They were having lasagna, the only food Tony could cook decently. The man let him work on his Iron Man suits but wouldn’t let him near an oven. Weird.

“Do you want extra noodles this time?” Tony asked, dropping something loudly and shaking his hand. He probably burned himself. “Shit.”

“Language!” Harley called, dumping the eating utensils on the table and somewhat arranging them. “Extra noodles. Your sauce tastes like tomato-flavored water.”

Tony held up a hand and made an opening and closing motion, saying “Language!” in a high-pitched voice. Harley huffed at him and he smiled. 

“I happen to like my tomato-flavored water, Keener,” Tony remarked. “It’s a fan-favorite.”

“You sell your cooking online?” Harley pulled himself onto his tiptoes to reach the plates. He liked eating lasagna with a bowl, but everything about Tony screamed _ abnormal _so he learned quickly that there were certain bowl-foods and certain plate-foods, and you couldn’t eat a plate-food in a bowl or vice versa. Something Peter agreed wholeheartedly on. “What a ripoff, people will pay for anything nowadays.” 

“Maybe fan-favorite wasn’t the right word,” Tony cranked the stovetop off and dumped the noodles and boiling water in a spaghetti strainer. “Unless Peter and Pep count as fans. Maybe only Peter, Pep scares me.”

“Peter likes everything anyone makes unless its poisonous,” Harley pointed out, setting the large plate on the granite counter. He reached for the bowl shelf in the cabinet. “Saying no kind of isn’t his thing.”

“Tell me about it. Hey, are you eating lasagna with a bowl?” Tony clapped at him. “No! It’s a plate-food!”

Harley smirked at him and picked the biggest bowl he could find, a mixer bowl. “Sue me, old man.”

“Listen up, you little shit–” 

A low pitched alarm went off, and the large floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room completely shattered. Harley flinched at the noise and Tony turned around, watch transformed into a one-use gauntlet.

They both rushed into the living room, Harley still holding his glass mixing bowl. A lump of red and blue was struggling to stand on the carpet and _ oh my god– _

“Kid?” Tony choked out, and Spider-Man turned to him, holding his side tightly. “What’re you doing here?”

Spider-Man’s eye lenses seemed to glitch, and Harley noticed the significant amount of dark patches on the suit that were definitely not the right shade of red. “‘Misser Stark?”

Holy fuck, he recognized that voice.

Tony marched over and put his hands on Spider-Man’s shoulders, snatching his mask off of his head.

And it was Peter’s smile, that smile that he had slowly fallen for, when he and slurred and spit black clots of blood, “I have an issue.”

The bowl smashed against the ground at the same time Spider-Man’s hand moved to reveal an ebony stain on his side, suit completely soaked through, and collapsed. 

* * *

This had to be the single worst night of Harley’s life, and if not it was definitely up there, right next to when he realized that his dad wasn’t coming back. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. May Parker had a hand on his back, obviously trying to be comforting but feeling just as stiff as Harley did. He could feel it in the way her hand didn’t relax, but rather remained completely still even as his shoulders shifted.

He exhaled through his nose slowly, flinching when another one of Peter’s screams filled the air. They didn’t have an anesthetic strong enough for his metabolism, but they needed to get the bullets out of his body, so they performed surgery while he was awake. Harley wanted to punch a wall. 

“Does this happen every time he has to get surgery?” Harley breathed, hanging his head between his knees and threading his hands through his hair. 

“They don’t have a strong enough drug,” May whispered. Harley could hardly hear her. “They tried one that worked for Steve, but it wasn’t specific enough to his needs. God, I wish it had worked.”

Harley winced and nodded when the air broke with another scream. May flinched. 

He stood up, fully intending on wearing a hole in the med bay floor when May grabbed his wrist. “They’re hurting him,” he croaked. “God, he _ got hurt.” _

“He’ll be just fine,” May said with a weak smile, like she was trying to convince herself too. “He’s… he’s gone through a lot. He’s a strong boy.”

“I know that!” Harley shouted, running his hands down his face and choking on the air. “I know that, but I didn’t know about this– I didn’t know he was Spider-Man and I said I didn’t like him _ to his face–” _

“Harley,” May interrupted, sounding calm even though her voice was shaky with worry. “Peter could never hate you. I’ve seen him smile more times than I have in a long time when he talks about you.” She gently tugged at his hand, urging him to sit down, but he didn’t move.

All of those things now made complete sense, all of the little changes Spider-Man made to his patrols, all things that Harley pointed out. The lab time spent separated, he was probably working on those changes, and suddenly it was completely obvious. Of course Peter Parker would be Spider-Man. Of course the one of the kindest and most profoundly reckless souls with one of the prettiest damn smiles and the warmest eyes would be a superhero, saving cats from trees and helping old ladies cross the street. Of course his Pete would go out every night and help people by risking himself, and when had he started using possessives so frequently? When had he gone from _ Pete _ to _ his? _Was he blind?

“How could I have been so stupid?” he rasped, finally giving in to May’s pulls and sitting down on the cushioned yet still uncomfortable seat. “Why didn’t he tell me?” Harley asked, though he was sure that he knew the answer. 

“Peter,” May started carefully, wrapping cold, thin fingers around his hand. “Peter loves you very much, Harley. I can tell you that. He probably had a reason, he has one for nearly anything. You’re not stupid.” 

“I feel like it,” he laughed awkwardly. “I feel like it a lot. He’s not exactly subtle, now that I look back at it.”

May laughed along with him, though it sounded fake and forced. “Yeah, he needs to work on that.”

* * *

When Peter woke up, he left like a weight had been lifted off of his chest, and he could breathe again. The air tasted cleaner, the lights seemed brighter, all because he was awake. Something in the back of his mind told him that was ridiculous, but every other inch of his body believed it. 

May left about fifteen minutes ago, Tony about nine. They both needed rest, but guilt and a swelling feeling that he couldn’t quite name kept Harley attached to the side of Peter’s bed, staring at a motionless form and quietly watching his chest rise and fall. The beep of the heart monitor kept him from going insane.

Peter’s eyes flickered open, eyelids shuttering almost imperceptibly. 

“Pete,” Harley breathed, voice almost disbelieving. 

They told Harley that they had cranked Peter’s painkiller intake to the highest level that they could without causing organ failure, but that he might still be in pain. So he gently squeezed his hand, hoping that maybe Peter would be just aware enough to feel it. 

Peter blinked, probably dispelling the fluorescent light, and chocolate met his ocean blues.

Harley probably grinned wider than he had ever before. “Yeah, ‘darlin. There you are.” 

“Harley?” Peter asked, voice hoarse from the screaming. His breathing was loud, but at least it was there.

“Good morning,” Harley said, squeezing Peter’s hand tighter. Peter’s eyes flicked down to it, and Harley would say they were disbelieving if they weren’t clouded with soreness and exhaustion. 

“‘S really you?” Peter asked, like he had to make sure. Just in case.

“No, it’s Elon Musk,” came out of his mouth before he could stop himself. He could feel his face turn red. 

Peter’s lips just turned upwards as he squeezed his hand back. “No ‘s not, you liar,” he accused, coughing a little.

“You caught me, I’m secretly Harley,” he teased, pretending not to be choked up by how hard Peter was holding onto his hand, like he might disappear any second. 

_ He’s gone through a lot. _

Peter hummed, or at least he attempted to with his shredded throat. He shifted, nearly crushing Harley’s hand with his strength, and tried to lift his upper body off the bed.

Harley softly put his other hand on Peter’s shoulder, guiding it back onto the pillow. “Woah there, take it easy.”

Peter’s face screwed up, nose wrinkling. “‘S hurts.”

“Duh,” Harley exhaled. “That’s why we don’t try to sit up, huh princess?”

Peter closed his eyes, lashes resting against his cheeks. It gave Harley’s heart a little flip, even though he knew that Peter was still awake. “Like it when you call ‘m princess,” he commented quietly, sentence crackling on his worn voice. “Makes ‘m feel special.” 

“Good,” Harley said back, just as quietly, “‘cuz I ain’t gonna stop anytime soon. Get used to it.”

Peter’s eyelids fluttered, and he looked at Harley again. “Gotta tell you, be– before I fall ‘sleep again.” 

Harley rested his other hand on top of the one holding Peter’s. 

“‘M sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize–”

“No,” Peter tugged on his hand. “Listen– listen, listen. ‘M talking.” 

Harley laughed lamely and rested his forehead against the side of the bed for a quick second. “Alright, sugar.”

“‘M sorry ‘fr not telling you Harls,” Peter continued. His eyelids drooped, but he grabbed onto Harley’s arm like if he kept touching him he might stay awake. “‘Jus… did’n want you to hate me.”

“I could never hate you, Spider-Man,” Harley responded honestly, emotions threatening to spill from his eyes. He sniffed.

Peter practically melted even farther into the pillow, smiling contently. “‘Thas… ‘thas good. I…” he lifted his hand out of Harley’s capture and rested it against the freckled boy’s cheek. “Thanks.”

Harley brought a hand to his cheek, and pressed Peter’s further into his skin, the ghost touch finally feeling real. “What–” he felt like the air was being pulled from his lungs, but in a good way, “– what’re you thanking me for, dummy?”

Peter shrugged, though it was a weak gesture, and tilted his head so that he was half facing him. His nose was still wrinkled with effort, though he looked like someone who just got shot three times, stabbed twice, and needed to rest should look: happy to get some much-desired sleep. “Dunno, ‘jus felt right. Larb you, Harls.” 

Harley froze as Peter swallowed and let his hand go limp. Harley kept it in place, cradling it like it was precious, though every other limb was paralyzed. 

God, fuck.

“‘G'night,” Peter hummed, tipping his head back. Harley whispered a similar sentiment. 

When he thought that Peter was asleep, Harley guided Peter’s hand away from his cheek and pressed a quick kiss to his palm, setting it down like it was fragile porcelain and chuckling in disbelief.

He patted Peter’s leg, pushing his chair backwards and leaning his head against the wall. “Larb ‘ya too, princess.” 

He more-than-liked Peter, he guessed. That was okay. 

_ He’ll be just fine. _


	2. Prom/Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently when I highlight words on mobile ao3 it doesn’t let me scroll. Fml, this is complete and utter garbage. Foolery. Absolute trash. 
> 
> (I spent like 3 hours trying to post a new work and gave up, so that’s why this is chaptered. Can I pls get an F my hands r cramping)
> 
> Enjoy!

It was February, and Peter was freaking out. He’d freaked out worse than this before, but this was the slow sort of freak out that came when he decided to procrastinate on a paper and slowly realized that he only had 6 hours to write it. Not that he’d done that before. 

That feeling is not good, especially when his crush was Harley Keener and literally everyone on the face of the planet also liked him. Who wouldn’t? 

That was why Mr. Stark teased him about his face going red whenever Harley unceremoniously dumped his bags in the corner of the lab and declared a new project, or whenever Harley asked Peter specifically for advice on his baking, or whenever Harley turned on a Star Wars movie and the reason was that he knew Peter liked them.

Peter was completely head over heels. Harley could murder someone and he would swoon.

Alright, maybe it wasn’t that bad. But it was still pretty bad. 

It still made him want to pinch himself when Harley sat next to him with a bowl of popcorn and a Star Wars DvD in his hand.

He was probably warmer than he had been in a long time, snuggled against Harley’s side and under his armpit. It was the first time Harley was watching the original trilogy, a sin that Peter demanded they fix immediately. Peter pointed out things on the screen and mouthed along with the lines, eyes flicking to and from Harley to watch his reaction. 

Harley seemed most interested in the fight scenes, joining Peter in making lightsaber swooshy noises and silly pew-pews, though that wasn’t what fascinated Harley. Peter asked him, three quarters into the third movie, and Harley had shrugged and said “I just like space, I guess. In Tennessee, you can see the whole Milky Way because there’s not as much light pollution. It reminds me of home.”

Peter poked him, and smiled when Harley swatted his shoulder. “I guess space is pretty cool,” Peter hummed, words a bit muffled because of the fact that he practically had his head on Harley’s chest. He didn’t mention how he wanted to lay in a field with him and look at that same Milky Way, maybe while they held hands. “But not as cool as the lightsabers.”

“You just like bright lights and explosion noises,” Harley accused, poking him back.

Peter shrugged, mocking Harley, and Harley gasped. The movie was forgotten in favor of a vicious pillow fight that had May backing out of the room when she came in to check on them before going to bed. 

And even though it had just turned February about a week ago and Peter was absolutely definitely not in love with Harley Keener, Peter already felt like he was procrastinating on the metaphorical paper, because everyone else had a date to the prom. So he made a list, a work schedule, if he could call it that. It went something like:

1: 𝓰𝓮𝓽 𝓜𝓻. 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓽𝓸 𝓵𝓮𝓽 𝓶𝓮 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓴 𝓸𝓷 𝓪 𝓷𝓮𝔀 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓳𝓮𝓬𝓽 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓵𝓼. 𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓱𝓲𝓶 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓮𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓬𝔂 (𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓯𝓯𝓮𝓮 𝓶𝓪𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓮?????)

2: 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓗𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓮𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 3𝓓 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻 𝓶𝓪𝓹 𝓘 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷 𝓮𝓷𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓱 (𝓱𝓮'𝓼 𝓼𝓾𝓹𝓮𝓻 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝔃𝓸𝓭𝓲𝓪𝓬 𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓼???)

3: 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝓱𝓲𝓶!!! 𝓱𝓸𝓹𝓮 𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓽

4: 𝓪𝓼𝓴 𝓱𝓲𝓶 𝓸𝓾𝓽, 𝓶𝓪𝔂𝓫𝓮 𝓱𝓮'𝓵𝓵 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓪𝓶𝓮????

Obviously, there was room for improvement. A lot of improvement, like finding out how to even begin to talk to Harley about how he felt without melting into a puddle on the ground. 

He could improvise that. 

He showed the list to Ned, who shook his head and laughed. “Peter,” he said, “just ask him. It’s prom, it’s not like you’re proposing.” Ned’s smile was weird, like he knew something Peter didn’t.

“I might as well be!” Peter said, snatching the paper back. He quickly scanned it, eyes flying across the paper. “Is it not good? Do you think Harley will even like the map?”

Ned rolled his eyes. “He likes everything you make. You could hand him a crayon drawing and he would probably frame it.”

Peter bit the inside of his cheek, wrinkling his nose. “No, I want it to be good. What did you do with Betty?” 

“I just asked her,” Ned shrugged, gesturing for Peter to hand over the work he did on the assignment. They had a half-and-half deal when they were partners on a group project, one person did half and then the other copied, and vice versa with the second half of the paper. Peter handed his work over.

“But the hat did help,” Ned offered up, resuming scribbling down words and equations. “Maybe you should buy a hat.”

“I’m not buying a hat, Ned,” Peter sighed. 

“I don’t know how to help you then, dude,” Ned concluded. “But I can tell you that Harley likes you too.”

Peter’s cheeks went pink, but he dispelled the idea from his head. “Yeah, as a friend,” he pointed out. “He doesn’t  _ like-like _ me.”

“Whatever you want to tell yourself,” Ned shook his head. “Hey do you have mechanical pencil lead?” 

* * *

Peter’s phone buzzed, rattling the table with scraps and tools on it. Mr. Stark called out to him, letting him know his phone was going off.

“I know!” he shouted back, turning off the hologram he was using to render the blueprint for the 3D star map, and swiping his screen.

** _ne(r)dward:_ ** _ prom is in a week!!! _

Peter sighed and replied.

** _beterwithab: _ ** _ dont remind me :(  _

** _ne(r)dward: _ ** _ i tried to help but u didnt want my EXCELLENT advice _

** _mmmwhatchajay: _ ** _ He ignored you again? _

He snorted.

** _beterwithab:_ ** _ the fact that mj still refuses to use incorrect grammar scares me _

** _mmmwhatchajay:_ ** _ Good.  _

** _beterwithab:_ ** _ ◔ ⌣ ◔ _

** _ne(r)dward:_ ** _ he has a crush on Harley but wont ask him out _

Peter could physically feel the wave of pure panic that washed over him. 

** _beterwithab_ ** _ deleted  _ ** _1 message_ **

** _ne(r)dward: _ ** _ dude. _

** _countryboiily: _ ** _ i heard my name???? _

“Oh my god,” he whispered, running a hand down his face.

** _beterwithab:_ ** _ i snuck drugs in ur lunch, ur hallucinating _

** _mmmwhatchajay: _ ** _ This is amusing. _

** _countryboiily: _ ** _ wouldn’t be the first time B) are any of us actually going to prom tho like, is it worth it _

** _ne(r)dward:_ ** _ im going!!! _

** _mmmwhatchajay:_ ** _ I’m going to videotape the fight that Eugene is eventually going to get into with Abe.  _

Feeling his nerves rising, Peter texted back. His face was flushed rosy, and his hands felt a little cold, but that was fine, he was fine. He was totally not freaking out over a group chat.

** _beterwithab:_ ** _ haha do u even have a date harls _

** _countryboiily:_ ** _ yeah i have someone in mind ;) _

All color drained from his face, and just like that Peter could hear his heart crack in two. 

* * *

Peter decided to finish the map-projector, though he regretted it. He trashed it the night after, a tight feeling in his chest. His throat felt swollen, but he could breathe just fine.

It was jealousy, he realized. And he couldn’t escape it. He only had one lab day before prom, and even then the nearly-bitterness followed him everywhere. He blushed and stuttered when Harley called him pet names, but a profound sadness followed the initial rush of dopamine after he realized that he probably wasn’t unique in that regard. That Harley was probably calling someone else darling and princess and that he couldn’t do anything about it.

He was stuck in a hole, a dark, horrible hole, of feeling happy for Harley and yet still feeling like the chance of his life slipped through his fingers.

It wasn’t the angry kind of jealousy that caused people to crash cars or throw punches, either, because he was happy for Harley. It was the hopeless kind of jealousy that soured everything that he thought made their relationship– friendship, his mind helpfully reminded him– special.

It got worse after Peter overheard him at lunch talking to someone named Abbie on the phone. He couldn’t help what he heard, he could also hear the clang and tink of every fork that hit the plastic lunch trays, he wasn’t purposefully spying on him. He only caught the tail-end of the conversation, but it was enough to hear a quick “I love you,” and “Stay safe, Abbs.”

He couldn’t look Harley in the eye during sixth period, and god had he tried, because even if he liked Abbie and not him Peter still loved the deep azure of his eyes and how the ring of green made them look turquoise from afar. 

It was awkward before, when he got lost in those pretty eyes, but now it was amplified ten fold. He didn’t see the way Harley blushed back, just that he was staring into someone else’s boyfriend’s eyes, and that he got caught in the act.

Maybe he was being overdramatic, he knew that someone sometime had used that adjective to describe him, but it felt like his life was uprooted and now he was struggling to find purchase.

Definitely being overdramatic.

No, he wasn’t angry. He was just disappointed, he guessed. Disappointed and definitely not going to prom now that he knew Harley was going to be there with his girlfriend.

Okay, maybe he was a little bit petty too.

That was why he was dreading lab day tomorrow, and why he didn’t get a single hour of sleep and just stared at the popcorn ceiling wondering what it would be like if Harley  _ like-liked _ him back. 

* * *

It was going surprisingly okay, at first. Mr. Stark was at some stupid board meeting, his words not Peter’s, and wouldn’t be back for an hour if he could manage to weasel his way out of it. Considering that it was just Harley and Peter alone in a room, it could’ve been worse. 

They were working on some kind of stealth device for the next Iron Man suit, and getting the nanites to cooperate was a bit tricky considering that would mean that they would have to put the retroactive reflection panels on every single one, and while Peter had the patience for that, Harley did not and was thus devouring every article he could find on Google for some quick fix to the solution, writing down the websites that were helpful and kinda-helpful and definitely-stupid ones on a sheet of paper that Harley had already doodled all over.

Peter’s heart squeezed, and he ignored it. He turned his back to Harley, exhaling through his nose quietly. Out of sight out of mind. 

“Hey, what’s this?”

Apparently not.

Peter whirled around, accidentally knocking a couple blueprints onto the floor, and his eyes widened as he saw what Harley was holding. Harley was turning the 3D map every which way, eyebrow cocking when he read the for Harls engraving on the back. 

Peter’s face felt like it was going to burst into flames. He snatched it from Harley’s hands, chewing on his bottom lip. “Uh, it’s nothing. It’s nothing.”

Harley put his hands on his hips, obviously not buying Peter’s cheap answer. “Did you make me something?”

Peter was definitely going to melt into a puddle on the ground, though not in the way he expected. “I– um…” Saying no was a stupid lie, even if the word was half out of his throat already. Commit or die, Parker. “N-no? Unless you w-want it. I was going to throw it away, that’s kind of why it was um,” he gestured to the garbage bin that Harley fished it out of, “in the trash.”

“Duh, you made it,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Gimme gimme.”

Peter shyly handed over the projector, tugging the hem of his sweatshirt down and wiping his sweaty palms off on his jeans when Harley turned it some more.

He hoped Ned was right about Harley liking it as long as he made it.

“What is it?” Harley asked, setting it gently on the table like it was something fragile. His heart skipped a beat. 

“Uh, I… remember how you said that you liked space?” Peter started. “I, um, made you a 3D star map, o- of the zodiac constellations. So like, i-it’s immersive and you can tap on the s-stars and learn stuff about them,” he admitted. “I um, don’t know why I made it.” 

Harley’s face was bright, and it made Peter smile even if he felt like he could really use a window to jump out of. Harley was probably faking it, he probably didn’t want a gift from Peter.

“Where’s the on button?” 

Peter inhaled and reached over to press the small black button on the top of the projector himself. The room was washed in blue light, and Harley moved out of the way of the lense.

Slowly, small structures recognizable as twinkling stars and nebulous space dust formed, gaining color as they developed. The noise was akin to an old video camera, and when it was done it went nearly silent.

“FRIDAY, turn the lights off please,” Peter asked quietly, feeling like his voice would’ve been too loud if he hadn’t whispered.

The room lit up with glow from the artificial stars, twice as many as before now that they could clearly be seen in the dark. They moved around each other, something akin to eddies in a pond, and galaxies slowly churned on the outskirts of the projection. Constellations had thin lines connecting the stars, twice as big as the stars without a home cluster. The manufactured light wasn’t too bright, and it was nowhere near as pretty as the Milky Way that Peter had seen in pictures while researching, but it was the best that he could do.

Peter blushed all the way up to his ears when Harley gasped.

Peter had already turned the map on a couple times, so he knew what it looked like and how it felt, but Harley didn’t and he figured the wonder on his face was a good thing.

The blonde boy reached out to tap the cancer constellation, slowly moving east. A screen of words popped up. Harley swiped it closed, and touched everything that he could reach without moving.

“Pete, angel, I–” Harley swallowed, looking at him. Peter couldn’t help but think that his eyes were beautiful in the artificial starlight. “I don’t know what to say. This is amazing, thank you so much.”

He didn’t even notice that Harley had been moving towards him before he took his hand, and they were close enough that Peter could feel Harley’s breath.

“I’m… a Leo,” Peter said lamely. 

Harley put a hand on his back and kissed him, effectively sucking all of the breath right out of his lungs. He melted into Harley’s touch, smiling behind the kiss. He didn’t really know what it was doing, but it made his stomach do flips and his brain felt like it was on drugs, so he was okay with being a novice at kissing.

They separated and Peter reached up to touch his lips, like he was making sure that this was a real thing that actually happened. “I thought you were dating Abbie,” Peter blurted before Harley could get a word in edgewise.

Harley’s eyes went wide and he wheezed. Peter’s nose wrinkled in confusion. 

Harley pulled Peter close to him again, still partially dying, and said “Princess, Abbie is my sister. I’m not going to prom with my sister.”

Peter shoved his face in his hands to avoid Harley seeing his obvious embarrassment. “Oh my  _ god _ . I will pay you to not tell MJ or Ned.”

“Forty,” Harley let him go and crossed his arms.

“Done.” 

“So?” Harley prodded, and Peter looked up at him. He was four or five inches shorter than Harley, but he was never going to tell the boy that he liked it.

“So what?”

Harley punched him in the shoulder. “Will you go to prom with me?”

Peter stuttered, voice sounding a little high-pitched and disbelieving. “Of course! Yes,” he breathed, smiling brightly, “god, yeah. Yes. Totally.”

This time the kiss was to shut him up.

February was a nice month. 


	3. Baking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still on AO3 mobile. Kill me
> 
> Enjoy!!!

Three AM was probably not the most optimal time to get extremely thirsty, but Harley couldn’t control his body. He laid in his bed for about ten minutes, trying to decide if he wanted to either risk losing his sleepiness or dehydrate.

Risking losing his sleepiness was a worse way to die, he figured. 

He expected Bucky to be up watching some Netflix show, maybe Natasha doing some scary assassin stuff, those two were nearly always up until four, but what he was not expecting when he walked into the kitchen to grab a glass of water was Peter Parker, face and hair full of flour and messy bowls and utensils everywhere, to be sitting on the floor with an expression that practically screamed  _ whatever happened, I was not prepared. _

It was just the front counter that was a war zone, white marble layered with flour, but the rest of the kitchen seemed relatively untouched, even if there were pulled out drawers and open cabinets everywhere. The island was somewhat unaffected, Peter’s phone laying there with his screen off, probably dead. 

“D–” Harley started, trying not to laugh, “do you need some help there, ‘darlin?” 

Peter crossed his legs, covering his face with his hands and smearing the flour on his cheeks. He sighed loudly. “Yeah.” He sounded almost guilty.

He walked into the mess, eyeing the pile of cracked eggs in the egg carton, and grabbed a glass of water from the fridge. “What even happened here? Did you make a bomb?”

Peter stood up, patting down his oversized sleep shirt that Harley was pretty certain was actually his, and shaking the flour off of his Hello Kitty pajama bottoms. “Kind of. The flour bag exploded,” he said sheepishly, ruffling the hair on the back of his head. 

Harley laughed, leaning on the counter and dramatically sipping the frigid water. “How do you make flour explode?”

“Talent,” Peter answered confidently, pouting when Harley’s smirk didn’t go away. “And absolutely no recipe. I was trying to make a cake,” he admitted. 

Harley cleared his throat and put the glass of water away, walking up to Peter and scuffing his hands in the smaller boy’s hair to get rid of all the powder. “What flavor were you trying to make?”

Peter shoved his hand out of his face when Harley licked his thumb and tried to wipe flour off of his skin. “Chocolate, felt like having something warm tonight.”

“Nightmare?” Harley asked, resting his hands securely on Peter’s shoulders. Peter shrugged, so that was a yes. “You stress bake?” Harley queried with a sad smile.

“The only thing I can bake decently are cookies,” Peter explained, biting his bottom lip. “May does most of the baking, but her cooking is bad, so I do that.” 

“A disaster,” Harley pointed at Peter, who blew him a raspberry. “C’mon, I have a recipe memorized. It’s pretty easy.”

“ _ It’s pretty easy,” _ Peter repeated, “I’m probably going to die.”

Harley held out his pinkie, smiling when Peter rolled his eyes. Peter locked his pinkie with Harley’s. “Promise, sweetheart,” Harley said through a grin.

“Fine,” Peter spluttered through a blush, “we can try out your mystery-cake.” Harley snickered and turned on his heel.

“Alright!” he clapped, smiling at the dark-wooded cupboards. “Let’s see if we have all the ingredients.” 

“Um,” Peter turned towards what he had out. “I have flour, obviously.” He pointed at a small orange box. “There’s sugar, and baking powder, and I wasted a lot of the eggs because it's hard not to completely destroy them with super strength.”

“M-hm,” Harley hummed, opening the lower left cabinet opposite the sink and rifling through it. “Well for this recipe, we need unsweetened cocoa powder. I know Tony has espresso powder too.”

“Unsweetened?” Peter asked, voice lilting curiously. He wandered over to the deep-seated sink next to the oven to wet a cloth in warm water so that they didn’t have to bake on a flour-caked counter top. “Why unsweetened?”

“My mom doesn’t have too much of a sweet tooth,” Harley clarified, bending down. “She used to bake this for me and Abbie before… everything.” He waved his hand vaguely.

Peter wrinkled his nose and furrowed his brow when the wet rag just made the flour cling to it. He swiped it across the marble again, scrubbing hard. “What kind of heathen has not-sweet chocolate cake?”

Harley snatched the regular cocoa powder and the espresso powder off the shelf once he spotted the containers. “Sweetened it is,” he smiled triumphantly and closed the cupboard. “Is there any other salt that’s not in the shaker?”

Peter shrugged. “Don’t think so, I don’t get why people have a bunch of salt in a box. What’re you gonna do, commit slug genocide?” 

Harley walked up to the front counter and swiped the shaker too, dumping his findings in the now silently-dubbed ingredients pile on the counter next to Peter’s disaster zone. “And… the oil, milk, and vanilla. I know Pepper bought those.” 

Peter walked to the sink, holding the probably ruined rag like it was a misbehaving kitten, turned the faucet on, and started scrubbing the flour off the cloth with his hands. “They have the vanilla and oil in the cupboard above the fridge, they both have a strong smell.” 

Harley dragged a stool up to the magnet-heavy fridge, stumbling when he almost opened the door while pulling himself up, and stood on his tiptoes to reach the cupboard. “What would I do without you?” He winced at the squeak of the cupboard, but easily grabbed the vegetable oil and vial of vanilla extract. On the way down he pulled the milk carton from the door of the refrigerator.

“Die, I guess.”

Harley gasped in mock offence. “You are absolutely right and you should shut up.” He couldn’t see Peter’s smile or blush, but he could feel it. He decided that he liked the rosy color, and resolved to be the corniest boyfriend ever.

“Do you know how to boil water, sweetheart?” he said with a shit-eating grin. Peter’s face did indeed go pink. 

“Of course,” he mumbled, giving up on the cloth. “I’ll go do that. Do I have to preheat the oven?”

“Three-hundred fifty degrees. Thank ‘ya, sugarplum,” Harley blew him a kiss. Peter, face still warm and red, pretended to catch it and throw it away. 

“Naughty,” Harley tsked. 

That got Peter moving faster. He tried to quietly sort through the pots and pans in the deep drawer by the oven, obviously trying to not make much noise, but that was forgotten when he accidentally shoved one off the shelf while trying to reach the large pot in the back. He squeaked, moving his toes out of the way.

“This is why we wear shoes in the house,” he pointed out. “Toe protection.”

“It feels weird!” Peter protested, bringing the pot over to the sink and setting it in the basin. “Plus, mine are always dirty. Miss Potts will yell at me if I get the floors dirty.” He turned the faucet on, eyeing it as the pot filled with water. The knobs squeaked when Peter shut the water off. 

“Then get the ceiling dirty.” He kicked the stool over to the left, a row of top cabinets hovering over the warm grey backsplash. He reached for a mixing bowl in the middle cabinet, opting to stir by hand instead of using a machine. It felt more rewarding, that way. 

“No way, that’s worse! I’d have to clean it, then.”

Harley shrugged. “‘Sounds like a you-problem.”

“You’re a you-problem,” Peter mocked. He set the pot down on the stove without a problem, super strength letting him carry the large container even while filled with water, adjusting it so the handle wouldn’t get in the way. 

Harley shuffled up next to Peter, bumping his hip with his own. Peter fumbled with the oven dials and swatted Harley’s shoulder, cranking the stove on. “Hey, gotta mix somewhere.”

Peter’s eyes lit up, “Can I mix?” 

Harley physically couldn’t say no to those warm Bambi eyes. “Of course, sweet ‘thang.”

Peter didn’t even register the pet name before he was asking which ingredients and how much to pour in the bowl of each. Harley couldn’t help but watch the tongue that poked out of his mouth when he was trying to accurately measure the cups. 

“You know, it’s easier to measure a cup of sugar if you just open the bag all the way,” he commented when Peter kept losing chunks of it to the floor. “Here, let me show you.”

Peter went almost cherry-red when Harley pressed his chest against his back, flushed hue traveling all the way up to his ears and down his neck.

Harley opened the bag, accidentally tearing it a little down the side, and then took Peter’s hand and guided the cup into the bag. He somewhat-rested his chin on the crown of Peter’s fluffy curls. “Don’t be scared to scoop up a whole bunch, just use your finger to flatten the extra into the bag.” 

“Just– just one cup, right?” Peter guessed, voice wavering a little. He followed Harley’s instructions, dumping the amount into the bowl. It was too easy, Harley thought, to get him all flustered and red. 

“Two,” Harley corrected gently, moving his hands down to rest softly on Peter’s plush hips. “Sugar for my sugar,” he chirped. 

“Literally stop, or else I’m throwing this at you.” He jerked his hands in a way that suggested he was going to flick the entire cup right into his face. 

Harley held his hands up, stepping back. “C’mon, honey bun,” he teased.

“Don’t test it, Keener,” Peter pushed the sugar bag away and started with the baking soda. 

“Baby doll?”

Peter looked over his shoulder and connected their eyes with two fingers. He tried and failed to look intimidating, resembling more of a frustrated kitten what with his eyes and his ivory cheeks colored rose. “You’re a horrible teacher.”

“Hey!”

* * *

The total time to bake the cake was supposed to be about forty-five minutes, and though it took longer since Peter needed some guidance every now and then, it was worth it to see Peter’s expression when he took the first bite. 

“Oh my god,” Peter said around the food in his mouth. “Alright, I can deal with this.” 

Harley covered his smile with his hand, bringing it down to take a bite every once in a while. “You like it?” 

Peter beamed, nodding his head. 

The silence was comfortable, broken only by the sound of forks against cheap paper plates. The cake was in fact sweeter than what Harley usually made, but it was nice. He supposed that he didn’t want to make FRIDAY order something so early anyways. 

Peter leaned forward on his stool, scraping his fork against the plate to scoop up some of the cake that had stuck to it. They were sitting at the island, deeming it too early to set up the table, so Peter had dragged the bar stools so that they could eat without having to stand. 

Harley put his chin in his hand, watching Peter get up to grab another slice. He sat down with a bashful smile, perhaps a little embarrassed at having two servings compared to Harley’s one.

“You’re cute,” Harley observed, scrunching up his nose when Peter’s face went aflame. Peter reached over the thin island to smear chocolate and frosting on Harley’s nose and mouth, sticking his tongue out at him maturely. 

“Oh, look.” Harley pointed out, with a fake pouty expression. “Now you gotta kiss it off, princess.”

“Do you want seconds or not?” Peter ignored him, going back to eating his cake. Harley whined. 

Peter set down his fork, mirth lining his eyes as he leaned forward, “Fine,” and kissed Harley on the lips. 

Harley gently pulled him forward, making the younger boy brace both hands on the edge of the table. He supposed even without the frosting and cocoa, the kiss would’ve been shy and sweet. 

Harley tilted his head to deepen the kiss, but Peter moved his lips to his nose and pecked him there. 

“Wow, rude.” 

Peter’s smile was small as he took another bite of the cake, mumbling “I’m ‘jus trying to eat,” around the fork. 

Maybe three AM was the time to get unbelievably dehydrated after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ingredients:  
\- 2 cups all-purpose flour  
\- 2 cups sugar  
\- 3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder  
\- 2 teaspoons baking powder  
\- 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder  
\- 1 teaspoon salt  
\- 1 teaspoon espresso powder  
\- 1 cup milk (buttermilk, almond milk, coconut milk work too)  
\- 1/2 cup vegetable oil (canola oil or melted coconut oil work too)  
\- 2 large eggs  
\- 2 teaspoons vanilla extract  
\- 1 cup boiling water
> 
> Instructions:   
\- Add flour, sugar, cocoa, baking powder, baking soda, salt and espresso powder to a large bowl or the bowl of a stand mixer. Whisk through to combine or, using your paddle attachment, stir through flour mixture until combined well.  
\- Add milk, vegetable oil, eggs, and vanilla to flour mixture and mix together on medium speed until well combined. Reduce speed and carefully add boiling water to the cake batter until well combined.  
\- Distribute cake batter evenly between the two prepared cake pans. Bake for 30-35 minutes, until a toothpick or cake tester inserted in the center of the chocolate cake comes out clean.  
\- Remove from the oven and allow to cool for about 10 minutes, remove from the pan and cool completely.
> 
> (The cake batter will be very thin after adding the boiling water. This is correct.) 
> 
> (Visit https://addapinch.com/the-best-chocolate-cake-recipe-ever/) 
> 
> Frosting recipe:
> 
> Ingredients:  
\- 1 1/2 cup butter (3 sticks, softened)  
\- 1 cup unsweetened cocoa  
\- 5 cup confectioner’s sugar  
\- 1/2 cup milk (buttermilk, almond milk, coconut milk work too)  
\- 2 teaspoons vanilla extract  
\- 1/2 teaspoon espresso powder
> 
> Instructions:  
\- Add cocoa to a large bowl or bowl of stand mixer. Whisk through to remove any lumps.  
\- Cream together butter and cocoa powder until well-combined.  
\- Add sugar and milk to cocoa mixture by adding 1 cup of sugar followed by about a tablespoon of milk. After each addition has been combined, turn mixer onto a high speed for about a minute. Repeat until all sugar and milk have been added.  
\- Add vanilla extract and espresso powder and combine well.  
\- If frosting appears too dry, add more milk, a tablespoon at a time until it reaches the right consistency. If it appears to wet and does not hold its form, add more confectioner’s sugar, a tablespoon at a time until it reaches the right consistency.
> 
> (Visit https://addapinch.com/perfect-chocolate-buttercream-frosting-recipe/)
> 
> I liked the cake a lot!! If any of y’all also bake it lmk what u think? owo


	4. First Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me? projecting? lol no (lol yes)
> 
> also im back on desktop can i get a yeehaw :D my life is so much easier now

Peter was a touchy-feely person, and he’d been told multiple times that he talked enough for two people. He liked doing both of those things, having physical contact and talking. But he was finicky, really finicky.

When it came to people like Mr. Stark and May, it was fine. He liked ambushing Mr. Stark, and he let May dote on him. He loved them, the same kind of love that was how a son felt about his parents. It felt wrong to push away contact from them, because he knew that they felt somewhat the same. Mr. Stark looked at him like uncle Ben would look at him sometimes, and though it was still a shock to the system it was better than anything else he could have imagined. 

Words were a little more nuanced, words were always difficult. Peter could talk for an hour and say nothing at the same time, or he could spit out a sentence and say everything. Sometimes Peter didn’t know which end of the spectrum he was on most days.

But that was with Mr. Stark and May.

And he’d had a crush on Liz, he knew what romantic love was. He and MJ even had a thing for a day before she decided that she liked girls hell of a lot more than boys. It wasn’t a foreign concept to him. The feeling of wanting to hold someone’s hand and maybe kiss them wasn’t a new thing.

But with Harley it was different. It was always different with Harley. When he held Harley’s hand it was more than that, it was more than Peter could describe. If the feeling had a color it would be a neon mix of everything, a color that humanity hadn’t even discovered yet. All because it was Harley’s hand, not anyone else’s. 

Sometimes it was overwhelming, but it was the good kind of overwhelming. It was a sensory overload, but it wasn’t pain and fear, it was a nearly suffocating kind of adoration and hope. 

It was scary, but he got used to it. He loved it.

And that was where he got finicky with words, because physical contact with Harley was almost like a drug, and words were like a planet-sized jigsaw puzzle.

Words were even more difficult with Harley. It wasn’t because he couldn’t talk, but it was because he didn’t want to be the person that talked for an hour and divulged nothing meaningful. He wasn’t able to find the words to express his feelings, feelings that were better described as shapes and colors and abstract concepts. He knew Harley would listen, he knew Harley would remember every bit of the conversation if it was important to him, but Peter thought that Harley was also smart enough to catch up on those colors and shapes if it was holding hands instead of struggling to find the correct words. 

And Harley understood that too, without talking about it. Words were as easy for Harley as they were for Peter, but saying something with them was what tripped him up. So he hoped that Peter knew that there were colors and shapes behind the collage of pet names and shoulder-punches.

All of that was a fancy way of saying that holding hands was a more meaningful kind of language that was entirely silent but said far more than the words expected of a verbal language. 

But despite all of that, despite all of the emotions and frustrations behind touch, they still hadn’t kissed. Not really. Because both Harley and Peter knew that there was such a thing as too much of a good thing, and neither wanted to push that. They were fine sitting right where they were, they were happy, but Peter couldn’t help but wonder if Harley’s lips were soft or if they were rough like his calloused, overworked hands.

It was a series of events that led up to the answer of that question, that led up to finding the key to a whole host of words that neither had used before, but that described everything perfectly. 

Well, not really a series of events like a plot in a novel. It was a series of simple, one-word emotions that made Peter forget that the language that they’d used since they met was fragile and precious, and that it could break at any moment. 

* * *

The first emotion was concern. 

Peter was an extremely doting person when it came to people that he held close. He had a little bit of an issue of lifting them on a pedestal and then making it his goal to lift himself up on that pedestal so that he could stand beside them, only either the pedestal kept growing or his tower kept shrinking. All three people, Mr. Stark, May, and Harley were determined to get it out of his head that he even needed to build the tower in the first place because he was already on the same level, but it wasn’t really a worshipping mechanism anymore. Peter just got so wrapped up in caring about other people to notice that he was building the tower again. 

All of that meant that he would work in the lab until five AM by himself, but when he was with Harley it was eleven PM maximum, because Harley needed sleep and food and water. 

It was the concern that told him that maybe this time it was okay to put lips to skin and peck Harley on the cheek in order to get him to pay attention to his doting.

Harley’s head turned towards him and he frowned, and for a second Peter regretted every life decision he’d ever made.

“It’s two,” Peter explained slowly. “And you need sleep, babe.” 

“What if I don’t want to sleep, princess?” Harley smiled then, and the regret vanished. It was funny how Harley could do that.

Peter inched his hand towards the blueprint that Harley had been pouring over, squickly snatching it and lifting it above his head to where Harley would need to stand to grab it. “Then I say movie night!”

Harley did stand up, and Peter laughed at the yelp of surprise when Peter carried him bridal-style into the living room and unceremoniously dumped him on the couch.

The taller boy smooched his forehead when Peter got himself comfortable and switched to a random show on Netflix, and later Peter hand-waved it away to be the same reason he’d kissed Harley on the cheek. 

They hadn’t broken that silent language yet, but Peter thought that was just lucky. Next time he would surely crack it in two because he hadn’t thought, just like he hadn’t thought tonight. 

* * *

That next time never came, even if the second emotion was an unfounded kind of jealousy. 

Peter had gotten hung up in one of his classrooms, the teacher had warned him about being late. Peter just sort of nodded and “uh-huh”ed his way through the conversation. The teacher didn’t know that the reason he was late was because it took time to change out of a skin tight suit, but Peter had to sit through the lecture. He’d tried to leave, he really had, he’d pulled out every excuse in the book, but the teacher wasn’t having it.

That was why he walked out of the Midtown doors ten minutes later than usual, and why he was anxious to apologize to Harley, who was driving him to the Tower since Happy basically forced him to once he found out that Harley had a license.

The jealousy part came into play when he saw Flash talking to Harley next to the old, run down car. Peter didn’t know where it came from or why it was even there, Harley wouldn’t ever hit on someone else, but jealousy was an irrational sort of emotion that was never based on logical foundations. 

“Oh, there he is,” Harley waved at him, beaming. “Petey!”

Peter’s feet unintentionally moved faster at the sight of Flash’s incredulous expression. “Hi Harls,” he smiled, standing on his tiptoes to press a quick peck to the side of Harley’s jaw, not really minding the fact that Flash was there as Harley reciprocated it on his lips, though it wasn’t even a second long and shy. His face went pink. “A teacher held me up, sorry about making you wait.”

Harley patted his shoulder, opening the door for him. Peter would tease him about that later. “Anything for you, ‘darlin.” 

Peter stuck his tongue out at him when the door closed. He could see Harley salute Flash and hear him say goodbye before getting in the driver’s seat.

“You know I would never cheat on you,” Harley said, five minutes into the ride. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. He rested his hand on Peter’s, squeezing it. 

“I know,” Peter hummed, squeezing back. “It just felt right.” 

Harley shrugged, though his cheeks were a bit red, and turned up the volume of the music. The rest of the drive was filled with the sound of electric guitar and Peter shouting at Harley to focus on the road instead of pretending to play the song on an air-instrument. 

That time wasn’t so bad, Peter reflected in bed that night. He did like it, it did feel right to kiss Harley, though maybe not _ kiss- _kiss him yet. Maybe that silent language of theirs’ was less fragile than he thought.

* * *

The next emotion was exhilaration, if it was even it’s own emotion instead of joy, excitement, and maybe a little bit of fear all squished together into one word. 

Harley had decided that he wanted to impress Peter, like his general existence wasn’t cool enough for him, and decided to do that by taking him on a motorcycle ride. 

At first Peter was nervous, jittery as he clicked the helmet into place. He felt a little silly with it on, like a kid going on his first bike ride, but on a really freaking big bike that also happened to be modified to go a little faster than what was certainly legal. 

Harley swung his legs onto the bike, smirking at Peter just staring at the roaring machine that he was supposed to ride on. Harley patted the cushion next to him. “Make sure not to hit your foot on the side bags too hard,” he called over the noise. “Don’t put your foot on the pedal while swinging your leg, that’ll tip the bike.” 

Peter nodded, feeling like his voice was too quiet to be heard over the motor. He swung his leg over the side of the bike, having to maneuver his knee weirdly as to not hit Harley, but ended up sitting flush against Harley’s back. 

Harley put a hand on his knee, and Peter flicked the pedals down so that his feet could rest. “You okay?” Harley made sure.

“I’m good,” Peter confirmed. 

“If we start turning, lean with me. That’s how the bike turns, if you lean the other way that’ll neutralize it and we’ll start going straight again,” he explained. “It’s not like a regular bike, you can’t turn the handlebars.” 

Peter nodded, breath a little short so close to the warmth of Harley’s body. “Uh, where do I hang on?” 

Harley grinned over his shoulder at him, taking Peter’s hand and wrapping it around his waist. “You can put your hands in my pockets,” he suggested, sitting up straighter. 

“N-no, I’m fine,” Peter stammered, cheeks tinted. He bunched his fists in Harley’s jacket. “Are you sure you know how to drive this thing?” 

Harley put his hands on the handlebars, said “Of course I do,” and took off. 

Peter’s breath hitched, and he tucked his head against Harley’s shoulder blades for a few seconds before the bike mellowed out. It was still loud, but the movement wasn’t nearly as jarring. He lifted his head, closing his eyes against the wind, but moving his head to the side helped a little. 

“Where are we going?” he asked, straightening up a little. He looked over his shoulder at the distancing Avengers Compound, turning his head to take in the rapidly changing surroundings. “This isn’t the way to New York!”

“If I wanted to take you on a ride I wouldn’t have gone to New York!” Harley yelled, laughing loudly. “The air is so much cleaner out here! You can’t see anything with all those buildings in the way!” 

Harley leaned, and Peter clutched his jacket, moving with him and the bike. He was taking a small, barely-there cleared path in the woods, and while the motorcycle was loud enough to drown out the chatter of animals or the chirping of birds, the trees were tall and magnificent and fiery with the colors of new autumn. His eyes wandered the landscape, undisturbed except for their loud vehicle. It really was wonderful.

Peter let his hands relax, even bringing one to lay on top of his thigh. He craned his neck to look at all of the blurring colors, dark browns and oranges and small hints of green foliage still hanging onto summer decorated the forest. Harley noticed he was relaxing and slowed down, snickering when Peter jolted. 

“It’s pretty, ain’t it?” Harley asked.

Peter could only hum and let himself melt into the warm body heat, bringing a hand up to Harley’s golden curls and threading his fingers through it. He gently kissed the bare skin of the back of Harley’s neck. He smoothed his hair, liking the way Harley’s face lit up.

Harley squeezed the hand on his knee, smiling wildly. “Glad ‘ya like it, we should do it more often.”

He yelped when the bike roared to life and sped through the forest once more. “Absolutely not!”

And while his feet felt tingly from the vibrations an hour afterwards, the sort of wonder that he’d experienced seeing the hues and shades of the forest was astounding, and he couldn’t help but feel like the kiss was completely justified. 

Their wordless, effortless language hadn’t shattered on the ground, Peter hadn’t overstepped any boundaries, he was fine. They were fine. And Peter was happy about this, and maybe he was a little ready for a _ kiss _-kiss. 

* * *

That came out of something that couldn’t really be labeled by just a single word. It was something of a mix between spite and reassurance and vulnerability, a strange concoction of burning and soothing emotions. 

Harley was a little internet famous, for having Tony Stark himself reply to his account on Twitter constantly and going public as one of his protegés. And obviously, since Harley had no self restraint, he dragged Peter into it as Stark’s _ basically adopted son _. It wasn’t entirely unwilling, though a little unexpected, and Peter only received good words from Harley and Tony. A few embarrassing ones, but mostly compliments that raised his self esteem higher that he thought it would ever go. And with his name, his relationship went public as well. 

They got immense support from friends and fans alike, Peter nearly cried when he got a piece of fan art and immediately followed the person and spammed them with words of gratitude.

Harley Keener and Peter Parker were household names by the first two months, and while it made Peter’s life a bit of a hassle as Spider-Man, it wasn’t nearly as terrifying as that time everyone stared at him when he walked into the cafeteria. 

It was nice until he realized why Tony wanted to keep them private. Today was supposed to be tame, a nice trip to an ice cream parlor in Queens with all the bells and whistles, prinkles, nuts, chocolate chips. They were wearing casual clothes, Harley with sunglasses tucked in his hair and layered jackets and Peter in his oversized flannel and nerd t-shirt. 

Harley poked him about putting gummy worms underneath his scoop, but Peter just rolled his eyes and prodded him right back about putting graham cracker crumbs on his sherbert. 

Peter started ranting about how stupid he thought rugby was to Harley when they sat down at a booth, who was showing him memes about it every once in a while to get him to stop and eat his ice cream before it melted off the cone. They were comfortable. Peter had a habit of talking about three topics at once and Harley was one of two people who could keep up, so Peter was content talking at a million miles an hour and not saying anything. It was the usual word vomit, but it filled the silence and amused his boyfriend, so neither of them minded. 

Honestly, they should’ve known better than to sit next to a large window, but they were so wrapped up in each other that it only occurred to them when someone snapped a photo from the outside, and god how many people had arrived at once? What the hell?

Peter flinched, and Harley stood up, pulling him away from the window. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

“Did you pay?” Peter whispered, pulling his cone close to his chest. “Or can we just bolt?”

“I paid,” Harley whispered back. “While you were in the bathroom. I didn’t want to argue with you for ten minutes.” Peter pouted, and Harley pointed at his ice cream. “I can get Tony into bribing the place to get a free scoop, because if we don’t throw these things away I’ll end up shoving it in someone’s face and getting sued for assault.” 

“Har-_ ley,” _Peter reprimanded, saying his name like it was two seperate words. Harley shrugged. “You can throw yours away, but you paid money for this. I’m finishing it.”

“Don’t blame me when Tony has a lawsuit on his hands.” Harley saluted the employee on duty, who mouthed _ sorry _ to them. Peter signed _ thank you _back before he was tugged out of the parlor. 

Harley pulled his sunglasses off of his head, handing them to Peter. Peter quickly put them on, still wincing at the harsh, sudden lights of the cameras and the brightness of the sunlight reflecting off of buildings. Harley slipped his hand into Peter’s silently reassuring him when words wouldn’t be heard. 

“Harls,” Peter tugged on his hand. “I’m gonna close my eyes, it hurts.”

Harley stepped closer to him, releasing his hand and curling it around his shoulders to press Peter against his side. “Just walk with me, princess.” 

Peter’s eyes squeezed shut, and he trusted Harley enough to guide him away from the noises.

“What product is Stark Industries going to release to the market?”

“What do you know about the relationship between Spider-Man and Iron Man?”

“How did you get an internship at seventeen?” 

Harley pushed aside all of the microphones being shoved into his face, scowling at a reporter who took a particularly bright picture. Peter could feel him get jostled a little, and his spidey senses buzzed when Harley stumbled, pulling Peter back with him. Peter jerked his cone back, not wanting to spill it.

“Are you aware of how you present Stark Industries?” The reporter, who sounded like a young, loud woman, demanded over the clamour. 

“We’re not taking questions, we just want to get to our car,” Harley replied, civil but clearly impatient. “Move.”

“But have you thought about the consequences of SI being associated with the _ gay agenda?” _ the reporter pushed the microphone into Harley’s face, and Harley frowned. Peter put a hand on his back, trying to comfort him. He knew how Harley got around these types of people.

“Babe…” Peter cautioned.

“Excuse you?” Harley snapped, stepping forward. “You got some balls, gal.”

The woman’s face lit up, obviously unaware of Harley’s tone. “Can you comment on the state of SI’s reputation?” 

Harley’s nose wrinkled and he barked a laugh. “What the fuck do you mean by that?”

The woman frowned. “Sir, I’m not sure how you can love a man like you–”

Harley moved the microphone away with his hand and firmly interrupted her, “Move, or I’ll _ make _ you.”

She reluctantly backed off, shaken. Harley’s stride practically demanded that the gaggle of paparazzi part for them. Peter stumbled a little when they walked over the curb of the sidewalk and towards the car. Harley opened the door, gently pressing Peter into the passenger’s seat. Peter relaxed significantly when he heard the car door slam shut.

Peter slowly took the glasses off, blinking his eyes open. Harley entered the car and stepped on the pedal. 

“Are you alright, ‘darlin?” Harley asked, putting a hand on the crown of his head and folding his bangs back so he could see Peter’s face. 

Peter ran his hands down his face, sinking into the seat. They took off so fast that Peter didn’t even get a chance to buckle his seat belt. “I’m fine, don't worry about me. Are you okay? You sounded angry.” 

Harley pulled into a parking lot of a small hair salon, place as empty as New York City allowed it to be, what with it being noon and all. He rested his elbows on the steering wheel, sighing. “Yeah, I’m fine. I got a little pissed, I guess.” 

Peter put a hand on his shoulder, opening and closing his mouth. New York wasn’t Tennessee, there weren’t people scrutinizing your relationship if it didn’t conform to their ideals. He never really encountered anything like this before. “I’m sorry,” Peter got out, words evading him. All of the right ones were hidden behind colors and shapes and all that meaningless word vomit. 

Harley turned, leaned his hands onto the seat divider, and as easy as that stole Peter’s first kiss.

Peter was paralyzed for a few seconds before he leaned into it. Harley’s lips were just as soft as he imagined, and he poured out all of that unspoken color, hoping that Harley could feel it just as vibrantly as he did. 

Harley tilted his head, fitting their lips together, and Peter opened his mouth when Harley’s tongue prodded for it. He didn’t really know what he was doing, but he let Harley gently guide him through it. He felt like his skin was on fire, and though it wasn’t fireworks and rainbows like they said in those cheesy romance novels MJ loved recommending him for some reason, it did feel like he’d been struck dead by a bolt of lightning.

He wrapped his hands around Harley’s neck, leaning closer. His fingers threaded through the wispy hair on the back of his neck, and he couldn’t help but gasp when Harley’s teeth sharply grazed his bottom lip. His face felt like it was going to burn off from how warm it was.

Harley pulled away first, kissing the corners of his lips before pressing his forehead against Peter’s own.

Peter’s hands were somewhat shaky, and his breath came in surprised puffs. His eyelids fluttered closed, leaning into Harley’s featherlight touch on his back. He curled his hands into the mop of wheat-golden hair on his boyfriend’s head. “Harley,” he breathed, “I’m…”

“I love you,” Harley said, so completely open and colorful and honest. It felt like Peter could see through Harley like glass, and Peter thought that he was the most precious thing. “I love you,” he echoed, louder this time like Peter hadn’t heard it with every inch in his body.

That was the word he’d been trying to find all this time, the one with all the undiscovered colors and undefined shapes. A word that was so simple that he couldn’t believe he’d missed it in his search.

“I love you too.” 

This time the words were easy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact harley teaching peter how to ride a motorbike is almost exactly like how my dad taught me
> 
> (i tipped it once ;w;)
> 
> also, alternate title: 3 times peter sorta kissed harley and 1 time harley totally kissed peter


	5. Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TY SIMPKINS
> 
> THEY GROW UP SO FAST :')

Peter was probably more excited for Harley’s birthday then his own. He had it in his digital calendar, the notification popping up at exactly eight in the morning, waking up Peter more effectively than any alarm clock.

It wasn’t his birthday  _ today,  _ but it was his birthday in about a week. He needed to get him something special, to show that Peter loved him.

Mr. Stark brought it up over breakfast. Eggo waffles and peanut butter always brought out the best in him, it seemed.

“So, kid,” Mr. Stark started. “Your birthdays on the sixth, what’re you thinking of doing?”

Harley shrugged, biting dramatically into his waffle, which was absolutely covered in honey and jam. Peter smiled into his orange juice, snickering when Mr. Stark rolled his eyes at Harley exaggerating the chewing motion of his jaw.

“Dunno,” Harley said when he was done being difficult. “I never really celebrated my birthday down in Tennessee, there was too much going on. Most of the time I was focused on Abbie’s birthday rather than mine.” He made a grabby-motion for the jam, and Peter pushed it towards him. 

“You put anymore jam on that waffle and it’ll kill ‘ya,” Mr. Stark complained.

Peter hummed his agreement. “You  _ never  _ celebrated your birthday?” he queried, a little bit sad because of that but also ten times more excited to make next week as special as he could. 

Harley shrugged again. “Kinda. It’s not important, guys. You don’t gotta do anything crazy.” 

Peter stared at the one knot in the table while Mr. Stark exclaimed in horror when Harley dumped a whole lot of jam on his waffle. He snatched the container from him, and Harley tried to grab it back before Mr. Stark could set it on the kitchen counter behind them. 

“C’mon, man,” Harley whined, standing up to go grab it. 

“Ah! No more jam, young man,” Mr. Stark playfully commanded. “Sit your sugar-addicted butt down and eat your breakfast.”

“If you  _ were  _ going to do something for your birthday, what would you wanna do?” Peter changed the subject, snickering when Harley flopped exaggeratedly onto the cushioned chair. 

“Is this gonna be some part of a huge plan?” Harley’s voice was skeptical, eyes flicking between Mr. Stark and Peter. 

Peter’s gaze shifted to Mr. Stark, who motioned to him with his hand as if to say  _ it’s your question. _

“Uh,” Peter said slowly. “No?” 

Harley shook his head, biting into the waffle and covering his hand with jam at the same time. “You’re a horrible liar, princess.” 

“It’s not!” Peter protested, grabbing for the peanut butter jar, already half empty, and turning the lid. “If you don’t want to do anything, then  _ we,”  _ he aimed that part at Mr. Stark, “won’t do anything.” 

Harley raised an eyebrow at him.

“We promise,” Mr. Stark chimed in, shoving his plate away from him. “Don’t we, underoos?”

“M-hm.”

Harley thought for a bit, content to let the comfortable silence stagnate. “I think I’d just want to go to an animal shelter,” he said after a while. “Maybe pet some cats and dogs, I’ve always wanted a pet but there was never enough room for one.”

Peter smiled, a plan forming in his head. “I think that’d be fun.”

Harley stood up and pointed an accusing finger at him. “You better not buy anything! This was a trap!”

Mr. Stark coughed, pressing a fist to his chest, half-laughing. “Snooze ‘ya lose, kid.”

“I wasn’t even snoozing, I was tricked!” 

* * *

Peter and Mr. Stark headed to the local adoption shelter to look at cats despite Harley groaning that he was going to get smothered in  _ birthday-mushiness,  _ as he put it. 

Mr. Stark was adamant about not having to get up in the middle of the night to let out a dog, even though Peter whined to him about teaching him tricks. “You can’t teach a cat tricks, Mr. Stark!” Peter had pointed out, putting his hands on his hips.

“Yeah, well a cat uses a litterbox. We’re getting him a cat, period.” 

Peter sighed, blowing Mr. Stark a raspberry as they walked in and the employee’s jaws dropped at the sight of Tony Stark in their shelter. 

“We’re looking for a cat,” Mr. Stark said, and Peter was a little jealous of how he could command a room so easily. “Do you have a… pet room or something?”

One of the employees nodded her head frantically and set down her pen, stepping out from behind the counter and leading them into a hallway. There were multiple rooms, and Peter tugged on Mr. Stark’s sleeve, pointing at a door labelled  _ cattery. _

“That’s where the kittens are,” the employee, who’s name tag read  _ Sarah,  _ said. “The older cats are just down the hall, sir,” she pointed around a corner at a room next to a curtained off employees-only area. 

“If we can’t get a dog can we at least get a kitten?” Peter pleaded, putting on his best puppy-dog eyes. “Harley’s homeschooled, he can play with it!” 

Mr. Stark stared at him for a bit before sighing and deflating. “Yeah, we can get a kitten.”

“Yes!” he covered his mouth when the employee politely told him to keep it down. “ _ Yes.”  _

Peter opened the door with a flourish, leaving Mr. Stark to speak to the employee about some financial stuff he understood but didn’t want to deal with. His face lit up when he was met with a chorus of meows.

“He-wwo,” Peter greeted them in a high-pitched babying voice. He walked into the middle of the room, quietly closing the door behind him in case one jumped out of their kennel. He looked up at the kittens on the top row of cages. “You guys are up high, let me see if there’s a stool.”

There was a stool, it was shoved against a glass room with multiple other kittens in it, probably a large litter. He unfolded it with a bit of difficulty and set it in the middle of the wall of kennels so that he could look at a particularly loud kitten. 

“Hi there,” he cooed, getting a high and long mew in return. He reached his hand up to look at the small laminated sheet on paper clipped to the top right corner of the kennel door, flipping up the label that said the kitten was three months old. There was a picture of the cat being held by a pale hand, the photo was a bit blurry so she must’ve been moving around.

Peter gasped when he found the kitten’s name under the breed information. “Hi, Sophie!” 

Sophie just meowed at him, reaching a small pink paw between the bars. She had caramel golden fur and dark brown spots, a bengal kitty. “Oh, you’re just so cute,” he awed. He poked her paw with his fingers and she swiped at him with un-clawed toes. She reached her other front leg through the bars and bopped him on the nose, and Peter beamed. 

He jerked his head to look at the door when it creaked, but it was just Mr. Stark and Miss Sarah walking into the room. “I see you’ve made a friend,” he observed amusedly. 

Sophie tried to bat at his curly hair, pulling her paw back towards her body when Peter poked it. “Her name is Sophie,” Peter told him.

“What’s she like?”

Peter stood on his tiptoes to see the inside of her cage. “Well, she’s got a lotta toys and spilled a little bit of her food in her water bowl,” he detailed. There was actually a lot of small water droplets splattered around the inside of her kennel, like she’d been whacking the water. “She’s a three month old bengal.”

“Aren’t those the cats that are super smart?” Mr. Stark asked, putting his hands behind his back and smiling at Peter interacting with the hyperactive kitten. “I’ve heard of them before.” 

“May’s allergic to cats,” Peter explained. “So I know like basically nothing. Do you think Harley would like her?”

“I think Harley would like it if you gave him a cup of dirt, never mind a kitten.” When Peter looked at him confusedly, he added on “He’ll love her, Pete.” 

Peter smiled, wiggling his fingers at Sophie one last time, who tried to attack them. He said hi to a pair of snuggling kittens before he stepped down from the stool and bounced over to Mr. Stark.

“Can we put her on hold so we don’t just have to hide her for a week?” Peter asked excitedly. “Like, so if someone else wants to adopt her we get first dibs?”

Sarah chimed in, smoothing down her pants. “We have a system like that, yes. We could put your name and contact information down in our records as you being interested in Sophie’s adoption.” 

Mr. Stark gave her his press smile. “Would you, dear?” She nodded and remarked that she’d do it right away.

“I can pay for her,” Peter requested as Mr. Stark led him out of the cattery. “She’s a kitten, she’s probably a little more expensive, right?”

Mr. Stark patted him on the back. “What’s with you Parkers and wanting to pay for stuff? No, I’m paying for her.” He held a finger up when Peter opened his mouth. “Ah-t! No means no, kiddo.” 

Peter pouted, though it didn’t stay on his face long. He was getting Harley a kitten! 

Long story short, Mr. Stark couldn’t get Peter to shut up when they drove back with the name  _ Anthony Stark  _ in the shelter’s system under Sophie’s adoption info. 

* * *

Harley had been watching Peter and Tony closely for the entire week since they’d talked to him about his birthday. It really wasn’t surprising when he walked into the living room of the tower to see streamers, a Dairy Queen oreo cake, and an excessive amount of balloons on the sixth. 

“Is it Christmas?” he snarked. Mr. Stark crossed his arms and Peter wrung his hands. It was obvious something was going on, or else his boyfriend wouldn’t be vibrating at the speed of sound. “Spill the tea, Parker.” 

“We, uh, got you something– someone!” Peter said excitedly, voice a little nervous. “I can go get her, if you want.”

Mr. Stark waved him off and Peter saluted him, running off into the bedroom hall. 

Harley cocked an eyebrow and put his hands on his hips. “Y’all better not have gotten me a slave,” he said. “Or else I’mma lose it.”

Mr. Stark laughed, pulling up a bar stool and sitting down. “No, we didn’t get you a slave. That’s pretty illegal, Keener.”

“Nothing’s illegal if the law doesn’t know.” Mr. Stark punched him on the shoulder. 

Peter ran back into the room, bright, sunshine smile on his face. He lifted up something covered by a blanket, something he was holding by a handle on the top. 

“No bow?” Harley asked, smiling when Peter’s face scrunched up. He set the blanket-covered container on the counter gently, pushing it into the very middle so that it wouldn’t fall. 

“No bow, take the blanket off!” Peter stepped back, hands clasped tightly behind his back. His eyes wandered to Mr. Stark, who smiled encouragingly at him.

Harley exhaled through his nose, a little nervous, and snatched the blanket off the container– holy  _ f– _

A long, drawn out and high-pitched meow met his ears and Harley choked. He bent down to look into the barred carrier’s door, and a pink nose and two wide blue eyes met him back. 

“Oh my god,” he breathed, sticking a finger into the carrier. The kitten sniffed it before trying to nibble the tip. The teeth didn’t hurt at all, really. It was just a love-bite. “Oh my  _ god,  _ you got me a cat?” He unhooked the door, opening it. The kitten followed Harley’s fingers out, walking a little unsteadily but confidently on the white marble counter. 

“Do you like her?” Harley straightened at Peter’s voice, and he turned to face him. Peter was chewing on his bottom lip, nervous doe eyes staring into Harley’s. 

The kitten meowed at him, demanding his attention. She stumbled a bit and clawed at his shirt. Harley made sure to support her butt as she crawled all over him. “ _ Yes,”  _ he breathed, voice cracking a bit. “God, yes. Absolutely. I love her.”

“Her name’s Sophie,” Tony said, watching the boys with a pleased expression. “Peter said she looked like you in the car.”

Peter’s face went red and he made an embarrassed noise. Harley’s nose wrinkled at him, mirth lining his face. 

“I love Sophie,” Harley reassured Peter as she sniffed and nibbled at his hair. He bent over a little so she wouldn’t fall off his shoulders. He beckoned Peter in for a hug. “Get over here, gorgeous. I can’t move because this little tyrant is all over me.”

Peter moved to hug him, and Harley squeezed him tight. He pressed a kiss to his cheek, feeling Peter’s smile against his shoulder.

He felt a bite on his ear and he jerked his head up. He reached up to grab Sophie, yelling a soft “Hey! That’s not allowed.” 

Sophie just meowed at him, wiggling in his hands, like she was unimpressed.

Peter giggled, reaching a thumb to pet her which just got snatched and nibbled on. 

Tony stood and stretched. “Alright, I don’t know about you but I’m not gonna let the cake melt. Dibs on the whip cream.” 

Harley hadn’t seen Peter move so fast for the fridge in his entire life, and he couldn’t help but wheeze at Tony’s startled expression. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im drawing something for day 6, lmk if yall want me to link it or something?


	6. Angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yalls, angst is my bread and butter. my jam. i love writing angst >:D 
> 
> spoilers for Spider-Man: Far From Home
> 
> TW suicidal thoughts, starvation. please stay safe!

Peter hadn’t called Harley in a week. 

Happy told him that Harley was a safe person to talk to, that Harley didn’t believe Quentin Beck’s announcement, didn’t believe that Peter was a murderer. Harley trusted him to know the truth because he knew Mr. Stark, because he was Spider-Man, and it was hard to hear that kind of empathy in someone’s voice, especially if he didn’t even know what was real any more.

Peter hadn’t called Harley in a week, even while dodging search parties and sleeping in old abandoned warehouses. He was homeless, for now, while Happy was convincing Harley’s family to not just immediately report him to the federal government.

Peter hadn’t called Harley in a week because his phone died from calling him too much, and it hurt to hear Karen’s voice because she spoke like Mr. Stark and sounded like May, May who was probably worried out of her mind because her nephew had gone public not as a hero, but as a villain. His secrets were torn open and exposed belly-up to the world like a rotting corpse. They ate it up like maggots.

Sometimes Peter had to pinch himself just to remember what was real, if this was all some other illusion, if Harley was even _ real _or if he was just another projection with a fake, recorded voice and equally fake concern.

He hadn’t called Harley in a week because he was terrified that he felt happy while talking to him, he felt like he could eventually stop skipping from abandoned building to abandoned building, just barely avoiding people. Because Harley was surreal in the way that it was too much of a good thing, and good things never lasted when you were a Parker. 

He did understand why he had to do this, he really did. Miss Potts– or was it Mrs. Stark now?– didn’t want to get directly involved, though she was working legally with him. He understood, she probably didn’t want him around her five year old. He wouldn’t, either.

He couldn’t help but feel guilty. For what? He didn’t know. He was guilty for a lot of things. He still saw Mr. Stark’s empty, burned eyes staring into his soul, accusing him of killing him, the pleas for him to not go still worked their way out of his throat sometimes.

_ We won, sir. _

He was guilty because if he had just been _ better, if he had just been smarter, faster, stronger, _Mr. Stark would be alive and with his daughter.

He was guilty because Venice and London and Prague were half-destroyed, two hundred and counting people dead, because Quentin Beck blamed Mr. Stark for his own misfortunes and in turn Peter blamed himself, because he trusted Beck in the first place. 

He was guilty because no one knew where he was, and Karen was too close to something five years ago that he could never get back, and he wore the EDITH glasses like they were an impenetrable shield because they could tell him that his life wasn’t all an illusion when he couldn’t say for sure himself. 

He was terrified, and it felt better with them. Karen, Harley, Happy, May. MJ and Ned, maybe. 

This was a self-inflicted punishment, though, so that’s why he didn’t put on the mask and talk to someone.

He hadn’t called Harley in a week, and though he stared at the lifeless eyes of the Stark suit’s mask, he wouldn’t pull it over his head. He felt like he would vomit up lies. His pathological dishonesty was a disease, and he just absorbed it from the reality that he was alone. Cough drops didn’t help, he’d tried.

He was on the rooftop of an abandoned warehouse, ignoring how his brain told him that it was going to collapse on him, it was going to fall down, but he felt just fake enough to ignore his constant paranoia. 

Maybe he felt just fake enough to pretend that he was okay. 

The rain helped, stinging pellets of icy water that pierced into him like bullets when he felt so floaty. The heater stopped working a long time ago.

_ I put everything in your suit. _

_ Not enough. _

This old warehouse was his prison, and this suit was his tomb.

He exhaled heavily through his nose, fidgeting the mask in between his fingers. He wiped off the droplets from the lenses of the EDITH glasses, wetting his lips with his tongue.

He couldn’t tell if it was the rain that made his face feel so damp or if it was tears. 

He hadn’t called Harley in a week, though that was really only how long he’d been talking to him in the first place. Even in only twice that amount of time, he felt like his cheeks were hollower and his suit hung off of his frame more than before. He was in a small town on the outskirts of New Jersey, and he couldn’t bring himself to scare the locals in order to get food. They didn’t deserve that, he didn’t deserve that. 

He looked up just as a streak of lightning pierced the grey clouds, the thunder sounded too much like a gunshot for his liking. He blinked away the droplets clinging onto his long eyelashes. 

“Hi Harley,” he spoke into the air, voice hoarse from disuse. “Hi H-Happy, hi May.” He fingered the mask, swallowing the dry words down his throat. There were too many, they were making his tongue swell and they clawed at his lips, desperate to escape their cage. Locked tight and sealed.

“Hi Harley,” he tried again. “I haven’t c-called you in a w-week. I’m sorry.”

That one apology cracked the lock. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. He put his elbows on his knees, feeling like he was cracking under the weight of the air and the rain. He pressed the lenses of the mask to his forehead, cold, hard metal biting into his skin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

_ Sorry isn’t good enough! _

_ Please. Tony. _

He took a deep breath, but it caught in his throat and shredded his lungs with frigid oxygen. Ice crystals were forming in his chest.

He sat up straight, and the empty space underneath his swinging feet felt so tempting, so freeing, but the feeling of guilt kept him chained to the ledge. His eyes searched those of the mask’s for something he couldn’t find, something he knew was lost five years ago, when Thanos snapped his fingers.

_ I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go. Please, sir, I don’t know what’s happening. _

_ You’re alright. _

At the time, Peter had believed him.

It was a lie. 

He swallowed again, this time his tears. He swiped at the space underneath his nose, cold snot lining his cupid’s bow. 

He was so gullible, he was such a _ sucker. _

_ I don’t think you know what’s real, Peter. _

_ It’s easy to fool people when they’re already fooling themselves. _

“H-hi, Harley. I’m sorry,” he echoed, like a broken record, glitching. He was just ones and zeros, a projection, a piece of glass and his reflections _ tore him apart– _

“D-did you know t-that d-dumpster food isn’t r-really that good? C-crazy, right?” he choked out, inhaling sharply so that he wouldn’t sob. He didn’t deserve that. “I-I’m sorry, you don’t w-want to hear that.”

He slumped, wiping his eyes under the EDITH glasses with his numb fingers. His hair was plastered to his head, his eyes were red and puffy. He couldn’t stop _ crying, _ he couldn’t stop _ wanting to blame someone else when it was his fault his fault his fault his fault– _

_ Maybe if you were good enough. _

He took a deep breath. “EDITH?” he asked, biting his lip. The thin, chapped skin broke under the pressure of his teeth, and his blood tasted like iron.

The glasses lit up, a frame of pleasant blue entering his vision. 

_ “Hello, Peter.” _

He pushed the glasses farther up on his nose, looking down onto the sidewalk. It was so far down, so far down, but he’d reach it in just a few seconds. “I– is this real?”

EDITH paused for a second. _ “I believe so, Peter. This is real. Your vitals seem very low, have you been eating?” _

He cleared his throat, turning his head away from the drop below. “N-no. Not really.”

_ “According to my records, you need around nine thousand calories a day,” _EDITH informed him helpfully. 

Peter laughed, but it was dry and forced. “Yeah, I s-suppose I do. Look, I– I just need you to distract me for a bit, okay? Can you d-do that, please?”

_ “Do I need to engage WINDO protocol?” _EDITH’s voice sounded softer, then. Less robotic, more person. Maybe she learned like Karen. 

“W-window protocol?” he asked.

_ “Protocol WINDO: When It’s Not Doing Okay. I think that this will help you distract yourself, Peter,” _ EDITH explained. _ “It is an A-level program. Would you like to activate it?” _

He laughed weakly, feeling everything except humor. _ Tony loved his acronyms. _ “S-sure.”

Another lightning bolt lit up the air, but thunder was overtaken by the mechanical humming of the glasses.

Suddenly he was in a house, a warm, cream colored house that smelled like oil and bread with dark hardwood floors and bare walls, like it was lived in but just barely.

“EDITH?” his voice cracked.

_ “This is the WINDO protocol.” _

The floorboards creaked. “Petey?” 

He whipped his head to face the voice. A tall, blonde boy with prismarine eyes and a face full of freckles stood in front of him, a sad smile on his lips. He felt like he was seeing sunlight for the first time.

Peter sobbed whole-heartedly, feeling the tiles of the warehouse roof beneath his hands. This wasn’t real, but he was willing to be gullible, be not good enough, be a _ sucker _ for a little while if it meant the program would keep running. 

“H-hi Harley.” 


	7. Karaoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this doesnt really fit the prompt but ya yeet i guess

“One, two. One, two, three, four.”

Harley took a deep breath, inhale a bit shaky. The familiar gyrating of his wrist, moving the pick against the guitar strings grounded him. He was singing quietly, just enough so that he could hear himself.

“Life’s al-right in deh-vil town. Yeah, right. No one’s gonna catch us now.” The last word felt final, but he took another breath.

“Dad-dy’s bought a new car now. We’re fine. No one’s gonna catch us now.”

He bit his lip, flicking his wrist and letting the strings bite into his fingers on the neck of the guitar.

The song felt a little bare without the accompanying ukulele, but he did his best. 

He swung his head to move his hair out of his face, clearing his throat.

“We’re all dead in deh-vil town. That’s fine, ‘cuz nothing’s gonna scare us now.”

He lifted his voice an octave, feeling a little silly.

“We’re all in our dress-sing gowns. Mine’s white and stripey, your’s is green and brown. I ‘fer-got my name again. I think that’s something worth re-mem-ber-in.” 

He took another breath, pushing his voice out of his throat. This part was easier if he wasn’t so quiet. “Spiders in your fave-rite shoes, just leave them be ‘cuz they’re more scared of,” he brought his wrist down hard, wincing a little when his fingers slipped and he hit the wrong note for a second, “you.” 

He regained his footing, slowing his strumming down. “Devil town is colder in the summertime, I’ll lose my mind at least another thouse-and times.” He pressed his lips together, going back to normal speed. Hopefully he wouldn’t mess up again. 

He raised his voice again, smiling a little. “Hold my hand  _ tight,  _ we’ll make it another night! I still get a little scared of ‘somethin new, but I feel a little say-fer when I’m wi-ith you. Fall-lin doesn’t feel so bad,” he dropped his singsong voice for a bit, not able to talk fast enough while keeping his voice high and uncracking, “when I know ‘yer ‘fallin this way too.” 

He jumped when he heard the floorboards creak, turning his head to see Peter in the doorway to their now shared bedroom.

He exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and chuckled. He was a little embarrassed to be caught. “How long have you been there, princess?” 

“A minute or so,” Peter answered. Harley waved him to sit down, laying his guitar on his lap. “I was just walking by, and then I heard you. I figured I would listen,” he explained bashfully. He sat down next to Harley, crossing his legs. “I’m sorry, that was probably invasive.” 

Harley laid one hand flat on the guitar’s strings and another hand on Peter’s knee. “Don’t apologize, ‘ya just startled me.” 

Peter smiled, resting his chin in his hand. “I didn’t know you played guitar.”

“Not often.” Harley shrugged. “Just felt like ‘tryin it out again, dunno why. It feels a little nostalgic, I guess.”

“You know,” Peter started. “I used to play clarinet in band. It was a rented instrument, so I don’t have it anymore, but I’d like to think I was decent at it.”

“I knew you quit band because of the Spider thing. Why don’t you rejoin?” Harley asked. “You don’t do a lot for fun.” 

Peter sighed, but a small good-natured smile let Harley know he wasn’t really frustrated. “Spider-Man is fun, and it does good.”

Harley rolled his eyes, moving to set the guitar down.

“Wait a second,” Peter paused him. “I– uh, really liked listening to you sing?” It was phrased like a statement, but said like a question. Harley raised an eyebrow at him. 

“You wanna learn the song?”

Peter stammered, “Uh, well, not on the  _ guitar.  _ I don’t learn that fast.” 

“Of course,” Harley teased. “Genius boy doesn’t learn fast. I’m just talking about the lyrics, we can do like a karaoke night. You can choose a song afterwards if you want, embarrass me a little too.” 

Peter blushed at the genius comment, but his smile shone when Harley offered learning the words. “So is there a lyric video, or…?”

Harley nodded, reaching into his back pocket. “Hold on, I’ve got one.” He scrolled through his YouTube history, clicking on it. “It just has the words on the screen, no fancy animation or anything. It’s not actually that popular of a song.” 

Peter took Harley’s phone when he handed it to him. “Version two… huh. I, um, don’t wanna make you restart or anything, where were you at?” 

Harley took the phone again and slid to the two minute and eleven second mark, giving it back to Peter. “I left off here. I don’t have a speaker or anything, sorry if I’m a little loud.” 

“No! It’s fine,” Peter was tapping his fingers, probably a little jittery. 

Harley hoisted his guitar into place, putting his fingers on the fretboard and getting his pick into position. “Ready when you are, sugar.” 

Peter bit his bottom lip nervously and hit play. Harley listened for a second, and starting playing along with it. “Life’s a treat in deh-vil town,” he exaggerated the bob of his head, encouraging Peter to sing along. 

“My ears have acclimated to the sound,” Peter sang, just quiet enough to be heard over the music. His voice was a little higher than Harley’s, he wondered how Peter would sound singing the whole song. He took a bit to get synced with Harley, but that was fine. He wasn’t familiar with the rhythm.

“Pretty faces fly around and ah-round my head,” Peter was starting to get it now, voice merging fluidly with Harley’s. It wasn’t too confident, but it was mellifluous. “As I contemplate this town I’ve found…” 

Peter took a breath and made a small noise, expecting the song to keep going. Harley laughed a little and Peter shoved him lightly.

“This is a slow part,” Harley explained, changing the rhythm of his wrist strumming the chords to match the video. “It’s a lot of the same verse over and over, it’s pretty easy.” 

Peter nodded, waiting for the singer to resume. He didn’t catch the first few words when he did, timing a bit hurried to catch up, but Harley didn’t mind. It was cute.

“It’s love-lee in the evening time, but everytime I close my eyes the sun-shine gets a little dimmer now. The clouds fall down…” 

Peter was a little better at singing the higher-octave parts, as he expected. His lips quirked up, his singing voice, though novice, was pretty. 

He flicked his wrist down. “I sink my teeth into my fingers, blossom swims across the rih-ver. How do you feel so prooou-oude? Everytime I close my eyes the colors fade and change inside my mooou-outh.” Harley took a deep breath, but Peter didn’t need to. “It’s all too looou-oud. I sink my teeth into my fingers, blood forms branches in the waah-ter.” 

He lifted a finger, tucking a knee under his guitar, and did a looping motion to indicate that the verse was repeating. Peter nodded, still flicking his eyes down to Harley’s phone every once in a while when he wasn’t memorized by the other boy. He started playing a little faster, and Peter caught the memo. His voice was synchronized now that he knew the verse. Harley really wasn’t kidding about Peter learning fast.

“It’s lovely in the evening time but everytime I close my eyes the sunshine gets a little dimmer now. The clouds fall dooow-own. I sink my teeth into my fingers, blossom swims across the river. How do you feel so prooou-oude?”

Peter took a breath, smiling shyly at Harley, probably a bit self-conscious. “Everytime I close my eyes the colors fade and change inside my mouth, it’s all too looou-oud!” Harley once again had to lower his voice to have it not crack, a little more aware of it now that he was with Peter. He wasn’t anxious, a silly little part of him just wanted to impress his boyfriend by keeping his voice steady. “I sink my teeth into my fingers, blood forms branches in the waah-terr.” He drew out the last word, Peter laughing a little when he ended too early. He looked at the phone. 

The strings hurt his fingers on the neck of the guitar a little less now that they’d been moving around. His callouses helped. 

He opened his mouth, and waited for Peter to look at the phone to close it. 

“Devil town is colder in the summertime, I’ll lose my mind at least another thousand times. Hold my hand tight, we’ll make it another night.” He glanced up at Harley and immediately went cherry, nose wrinkling. “I still get a little scared of something new, but I feel a little safer when I’m with you. Falling doesn’t feel so bad when I know you’re falling this way,” he took a breath when Harley struck the last chord, “too.” 

It ended and Peter pushed him, releasing the cackle Harley had been building in his throat. 

“You made me sing that last part alone!” Peter accused, and even though it was a statement of annoyance there was levity in his voice. “You jerk!” 

Harley set his guitar on the ground and whacked Peter with the pillow he’d been leaning on. “Takes one to know one, Parker!”

“You _suck!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song is "devil town v2" by cavetown. sadly i cant buy it on itunes so i will await the day apple gets their shit together :)

**Author's Note:**

> can english PLEASE get a pronoun for "different he" so i dont have to keep repeating their names
> 
> i literally t h r i v e on criticism. give it to me, i can take it! >:D  
pls go check out my personal blog @viviixen, i promise im better at art than at writing lol


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